Ashes
by lady of scarlet
Summary: --In the bitter and aching aftermath of failure, there were no words, only hot running water to guide the ashes down the drain.-- Emily reflects on the aftermath of a case. Emily POV, JJ, FRT, Genfic, friendship, angst, oneshot, character study.


**Title:** Ashes

**Word Count:** 619

**Characters:** Emily (POV), JJ; Friendship

**Rating:** FRT, GEN

**Warnings:** No spoilers, a healthy serving of angst.

**Summary:** Emily reflects on the aftermath of a case.

**A/N:** A short reflection/character piece that clawed its way out of a drabble. I'm trying to motivate myself to write more frequently, as I have been distracted with life and non-cm-related writing endeavours as of late. I'm on a bit of a writing-improvement mission (as always), so concrit would be very much appreciated. Enjoy, lovely readers!

***

Between the rain hammering against the hotel room window and the surge of water pushing through the rusty pipes with occasional grunts and creaks, there was nearly enough noise in the room to drown out the muffled sobs coming from the shower. Nearly, but not quite.

Emily shifted awkwardly on the stiff comforter of the bed, still nursing a badly bruised knee as she reached for the TV remote. She turned up the volume of a late night movie just enough to allow her colleague some degree of privacy.

Leaning back into the pillows, she finally submitted to the exhaustion pulling insistently at her mind.

If she closed her eyes she could hear clearly the paralysing tick-tick-ticking of a bomb rising in crescendo above the pounding water and distorted conversation from adjacent rooms. So clearly that for a moment she scared herself and her eyes shot open to look around the room in alarm. No clocks, no bombs, just her. Sighing, she let her eyes drift closed once more.

Her lungs felt heavy in her chest and soot still marred the pale expanse of her skin, smudged across her cheeks and neck where she tried in vain to wipe it away hours ago.

Soon she could stand beneath the scalding spray of the shower until she had burned away the memory of the fire pressing in on her and all the devastation that followed. The water would cleanse and absolve her, running in dark tendrils down her body until all the smoke and regret pooled in the drain and was washed away.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Wait for her turn in the bathroom, for news from the firefighters. Wait for her heartbeat to slow back down to a sustainable pace and the post-adrenaline shivering to subside.

Bombs were tricky. It was rarely as simple as cutting the red wire or watching the timer count down to zero, knowing exactly what to expect and when. Sometimes they took for granted that the bomb makers of the world knew what they were doing and played by the unwritten rules that kept the game fair and predictable.

Not every countdown ended in zero and not every game was fair.

Twelve minutes and twenty-eight seconds to go and suddenly it occurred to them that a waitress with no chemistry background and a bent toward inciting chaos is perhaps not the most trustworthy candidate for putting together a well-constructed explosive device. By then, however, it was twelve minutes and twenty-eight seconds too late.

No more unsub and no more hostages. They were lucky to have gotten out themselves, let alone rescued the few they managed to.

Idly, she picked at the dirt lodged beneath her nails until the groaning pipes finally silenced and the bathroom door drifted open.

"Your turn," JJ offered with practiced calm. To the casual observer the illusion may have even seemed genuine. Emily let JJ have her illusion. Three dead kids and it was on her to explain their monumental failure to the awaiting press and infuse logic into the chaos until the townspeople were satisfied that their little world was still in order and anarchy was no longer creeping along the edges of reason.

Emily nodded and stood carefully, placing a hand on JJ's shoulder as she passed and offering as much comfort as she could in the fleeting gesture.

They wouldn't talk about it. They didn't need to. Both fully understood how the game was played and how battles were won and lost. Sometimes they were the victors, sometimes they weren't.

In the bitter and aching aftermath of failure, there were no words, only hot running water to guide the ashes down the drain.


End file.
